These Are Their Stories
by bougeotte
Summary: This is just a collection of poems I wrote about the characters of DP. Hope you like it!
1. Diriel

**Okay, here are the poems. These were written for a book report in English class, and I really like some of them and hate others with a small passion. SPOILERS for all three books!**

**Poem #1: Diriel**

You glide smoothly through the halls

Of this horrifying place,

Observing prisoners in their cells,

Each wall as pallid as each face.

You chuckle at the fact that they

See _you_ as the evil one—

The malicious murderers

Despise the demi-demon.

You've seen them kill all those kids,

And to you, they're less than dirt.

You know they feel the very same way,

But, of course, that doesn't hurt.

Although mischief brings you joy,

There is something you want much more.

What you deeply desire is your freedom,

And you can get it—from the girl on the third floor.

_Go to her_, he whispers,

And you do just as you're told.

You reach her just too late;

She's now gone still and cold.

You wish you'd gotten there sooner,

Not for you, but for her.

Plus, you're still in this abyss

And will forever be, you're sure.


	2. Liz

**Poem #2: Liz**

S

T

O

P

!

I

am

not

crazy.

I know it sounds

insane, but I am

not the one who

is doing these things!

I have a . . . well, I

guess you might call

it a poltergeist. And

I know that it sounds

like I _am_ crazy, but

you have to believe

me! I don't have a

disease, and I think

you know that, don't

you? You tell me that

I have anger issues

and stick me in some

group home, telling me

that if I take my meds

like a good girl, I'll get

better. Those meds don't—

ow! Oh, no, please don't

give me more of those drugs! My brain's still fuzzy

from

the

last

round!

No…

I'm still talking to you…


	3. Simon

**Poem #3: Simon**

Nervous.

Talking.

Asking out.

Says yes.

Happy.

Nervous. Again.

Walking.

Talking.

Laughing.

Talking more.

Sad.

Hurting.

Gone.

Three hearts

_**breaking**_.

Sad.

Leaving.

Hear talking.

Confused.

Finds me.

Evasive.

Ignoring. Ignoring. Ignoring.

Sorry.

Happy . . .

for them.

Better.

Sad.


	4. Chloe

**Poem #4: Chloe**

There is no way out.

This is my life now.

Trapped, like spirits in limbo.

There is a way out, but . . .

That's not going to happen.

I have control over them.

I could make them my slaves if I wanted to.

And that's exactly why I feel like this.

Like an animal in a cage.

Like the wolf at the zoo,

Just trying to do the right thing,

Hurting myself no matter what.

But having them,

Having _him,_

Helps.

They make it worthwhile.

We share the pain,

Share the burden.

He helps me through the accidents.

I help him through the Change.

We're a team.

And not just him and me.

It's Tori, the

Witch.

It's Simon, the

Sorcerer.

It's Derek, the

Werewolf.

It's I, the

Necromancer.

It's we, the

Supernaturals.

**A team.**


	5. Rae

**Poem #5: Rae**

Fire.

I don't

know what

it is, but there

is something

about it that is so

hypnotic.

A tiny, single flame can

_singe_ your fingertips.

It's just so beautifully barbaric,

sinuously simple,

delicately destructive.

The acrid scent of it comforts me;

the tendrils of heat lull me

into a state of serenity. It's hard

to keep my . . . _obsession_ under control.

These monsters keep me here and label me

as a pyromaniac. I'm not.

I just like fire.

The crackling of a campfire, the hiss of a flame being

doused with water. Every birthday, I become so mesmerized

by the flickering flames devouring the skinny little candles

that I almost always forget to make a wish. I look at it

and take in its beauty, its **power**. Power, like fire:

a delicate balance. It can be good, wonderful, even.

It creates structure. But, when used the wrong way,

it can destroy everything it its path. Its catastrophic

abilities can annihilate entire cities within days.

However, it is more commonly helpful. It is so

like me: capable of so much, yet doing so little.


	6. Derek

**Poem #6: Derek**

I see her in Lyle House first,

A tiny little thing.

Reddish-blond hair, her baby blue eyes

Inquisitive and sparkling.

She sees me, and she jumps,

But really, who can blame her?

She's about five-foot-nothing;

I'm six-foot-four.

Then I find her in the crawl space.

She's shaking and trying to shout.

After undoing what she did,

We're both completely worn-out.

When the four of us run away,

She and her friend get caught.

Then they go to the worst place possible

Without a second thought!

After we finally reunite,

We head toward Albany.

We have to stop because I'm Changing,

And she helps me through it calmly.

Another day and we're safe,

And I'm really worried for her.

But she's stealing my heart, and my brother's,

Except, to others, that doesn't matter.

Then he takes her on a date,

And she says it doesn't feel right.

I want to know what happened,

But she just says, "Good night."

Then a couple hours pass,

And she helps me Change again.

I'm full-grown this time, and

We run into the other wolf-men.

The goons are gone as fast as they appeared,

And I'm just glad we're alive.

But still, something else is tugging at my heels

Like the runt of a litter of five.

Finally, after everything's over,

We're on the run, like before.

She kisses me, and I kiss her,

And I'll love her forevermore.


	7. A Little Ghostie

**Poem #7: A spirit at the cemetery**

I roam around the cemetery, searching for something to do, someone to talk to. My eyes survey the others around me, all suffering the same way I am.

Spending the afterlife in limbo is so

_boring_. Then I see her. I can tell

from the glow surrounding

her; she is a necromancer.

I sprint to her, my feet

silently hitting the

grass below me.

She sees me!

I know

she

does! She

is my last hope!

I need to talk to her.

Then she stops suddenly. I

do too, glancing over my shoulder,

wondering what she is staring at. She begins

to back away, then pivots and runs. I try to chase

after her, but I give up when she passes through the gates of the cemetery. I can't leave here. I'm trapped.


	8. Tori

**Poem #8: Tori**

I am not just _powerful_. I am

_power_ itself. They should have known

what I can do. They should have predicted it.

They should have realized that I'm not just another

witch. I am so much stronger than any of them. I am so

much stronger than my mother, that horrible, murdering,

evil . . . she was terrible. And _powerful_. I'd be lying if I said

she wasn't _powerful_. And Kit seems _powerful_, too. My

mother – a witch. My father – a sorcerer. I feel invincible.

When I cast a spell, I can feel the _power_. I feel it building,

building, building until it spreads throughout my

body, from the spiky tips of my dark hair to my

toes. I feel a jolt down my spine, tingling like a

thousand volts of electricity.


End file.
